Innocent Mishap
by Ice Cube1
Summary: Young Winchester fic…mysterious injury leads one ER doc to question the boys’ story…
1. Questions

**Title: Innocent Mishap**

**Author: Ice Cube**

**Rating: K+**

**Spoilers: For Supernatural…but probably only vague references…**

**Disclaimer: Right, if I owned them anywhere outside of my dreams, the characters that are forthwith mentioned in this story would be making me a lot of money and very happy…so no, they aren't mine, and I'm a broke college student who has no money, so if you're going to sue, feel free, you won't get anything.**

**Characters: Sam, Dean, John**

**Archives: Feel free; just let me know where so I can find it again.**

**Summary: Young Winchester** **fic…mysterious injury leads one ER doc to question the boys' story…**

**Warnings: To those who think that I am capable of writing a fic that is torture free…I can't, and thus, if you don't want to see h/c, various possible tortures, and other forms of angst, find another story. Also, to those of you looking for slash, when I mean friendship and brotherhood, I take that in the trust you with my life and have no problem telling you about my current crush who is of the opposite sex way. In other words, if you're looking for slash, you won't find it here. **

**I don't have my stories beta'd, I'm too impatient to wait for someone to proof it after I've written it, so I apologize for any mistakes, and if you email me to tell me that they're there, I'll fix them later. Reviews are always a plus, it's great to know that people are reading my stories and like them, but as I'm a horrible reviewer, I won't hold my breath for them. Flames, however, will be treated with the utmost respect they deserve…they will be ignored completely or poked fun at with friends.**

**That said, on with the tale…

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**_I've always wonderedif Dean and Sam could spend so many years and never have anyone notice that they were bumped and bruised alot...this is kind of my take on what could happen...

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Chapter 1

"Please. Someone has to help my brother." The small voice was barely loud enough to penetrate the emergency room, but it garnered the attention of every person in the vicinity nonetheless. The sight that each person was greeted with was heart-wrenching. The boy's sandy hair was covered in mud, and blood dripped down the left side of his face. He looked like he was going to fall over at any moment, toppling over at the weight of his brother. His t-shirt was torn up the sleeve and what little they could see of it was tattered across his chest as well. Through the rips, all who regarded him could see his muscles, still undeveloped, bulging and rippling with spasm as he continued to hug another boy to his chest. This boy looked to be too large to have been carried any distance by the smaller one, but it was apparent that there was no way he had gotten anywhere under his own power. He, too, was covered in mud and blood, but the pale contrast of his face with the dark hair in his eyes concerned the first doctor that reached the pair.

"Please. Can you help him?" Dark eyes with tears checked at the corners implored her to reassure him.

"We'll do our best, kiddo. Why don't you let me take him from you and we'll get you both checked out? How does that sound?"

"I have to stay with my brother. I can't leave him." The boy backed away slightly and stumbled; his brother's weight and his quick movement throwing him off balance. The doctor reached out a hand and steadied him.

"Come on with me. We'll get you two looked at and go from there, how's that? What's your name?"

The boy bit his lip and hugged his brother more tightly to his chest, unsure if he should trust her. But his head was starting to pound, and he felt dizzy, so he didn't know what else to do. He nodded and let the woman in front of him take his brother and lead him back to a room.

No matter what the woman did, she couldn't get the child in front of her to tell her what his name was. His only concern was that his brother was going to be all right, and that he would be staying in eyesight of the other boy.

"How about you tell me about your brother? He looks like he's older than you. Is he?"

"What?" He tore his gaze from where the other doctors were prodding his brother. He wasn't sure what to do, and wanted his father to come and make everything all right again.

"Your brother. How old is he?"

"Dean's fourteen." Sam winced as he saw the needle coming at him. "But Dad says I'll be taller than he is some day. Have they gotten a hold of him yet?"

"I'm not sure, kiddo. Can you tell me what you and Dean were doing?"

"We were…just messing around. It was an accident."

"What happened?"

Sam paused, he knew that telling this woman the truth wasn't even an option, but his father or Dean usually had a story that he could just play off of. "We were playing, and Dean…he fell. Down a hill. Umm…we were just screwing around."

"Can you tell me your name now? My name is Sandy."

Sam looked at her as if she hadn't asked him countless times beforehand. "It's Sam. Dean calls me Sammy."

"Sam, hunh? I bet you guys are really close for brothers, hmm?"

"Sure. He's my best friend."

"Sam, how did you get here?"

"I walked, what do you mean?"

"Nothing. Do you hurt anywhere else, Sam?"

Sam nodded, but didn't give her any more than that. It seemed like the doctors working on his brother were talking about moving him somewhere. He hopped down off of the bed and tried to follow.

"Hold on, Sam. You need to stay here."

"No," the word came out more like a plea than anything else. "I need to go with my brother."

"They're going to take care of Dean; we need to get you taken care of, okay?" Sandy knelt down in front of the boy to try and get him to listen to her. "Where else are you hurt?"

But Sam was stubborn; it was a trait long ingrained into both boys that they had learned from their father. If he wasn't going to be able to go with Dean, then no one was going to talk to him. He bit his lip and crossed his arms in front of him, but couldn't suppress the wince that the action caused.

The problem with being a stubborn ten-year old is that you are still small enough to be picked up and treated like a small child. Sam found this out quickly when he was deposited back on his bed and told to take off his shirt. He glared, but when scissors were brought forth warningly, the boy changed his mind and gingerly pulled the long sleeved shirt off.

Sandy bit her own lip as she saw the bruises across the boy's ribs. Messing around with your older brother didn't explain these. She noticed that Sam didn't take the shirt completely off of his left arm and nodded to it. "Come on, Sam; all the way off."

Sam shook his head vehemently and brought his knees to his chest, hiding his arms behind them.

Sandy was confused, and was starting to get annoyed with the boy. His baby face and innocent looks only got past the eleventh hour of a double shift for so long, and all she wanted was to get this over with. There was no way this could be too much of an injury if he had carried Dean for as long as he did, and the doctor couldn't explain why this boy was being so stubborn about it.

"Look, Sam. We can do this the easy way, or we can do it the hard way. So let's go. Shirt off, sit back on the bed, and let me take a look at those bruises. By the time I'm finished, your brother should be back." She crossed her arms and mentally counted to five.

Sam counted to five as well, judging how much he could get away with before Sandy really got mad. He remembered the last time he had hurt his arm like this; his father had fixed it, and Sam wasn't too keen on that happening again. When she reached forward and tugged on the shirt, jostling his arm, Sam pulled back and took the shirt off his arm himself.

Sandy's eyes widened and she wondered what kind of life this boy led if he wasn't curled in a ball in pain already, much less have carried his brother into the hospital. She could see the bone poking up through his skin, just on the edge of breaking through, and causing massive bruising on the side of his arm under his thumb. Pushing back any thoughts of wrapping the boy up in a hug and trying to make him feel better that way, Sandy ran her hand lightly down the boy's arm and then lay it softly down across his stomach.

"Let's get you up to x-ray, okay Sam?"

Before he knew what was happening, Sam had been whisked off to another floor, sat in a room where a man had moved his arm around on a table multiple times and then took several shots of his chest as well, and was back down in the emergency room. This time he was in a different room, and his arm had been set and casted. Surprisingly enough to him, the simple injection he had been given had made the process painless, and now he was sitting alone, getting more nervous as time passed.

The boy continued to sit in just his sweatpants, staring at the paper shirt that Sandy had given him before telling him that she would be right back. He didn't care what she thought, no shirt was better than that thing.

He looked up when, a few minutes later, a strange older woman came into the room with Sandy. Sam was instantly on edge; this woman had an air about her that made him nervous.

"Good news, Sam. Looks like your ribs are all right. This is Doctor Malloth. She wants to talk to you a little while you wait for your brother. I'll be back to check on you in a little bit."

Sam ignored them both and picked at the blue fiberglass that encased his arm now. He felt the woman sit down next to him and saw the can of Sprite that was held in his line of vision.

"Are you thirsty, Sam?"

He was, and his father rarely let him have soda, but a doctor who came in bearing gifts was more concerning to him than one who argued with him over his shirt. When she uncurled his fingers and placed the can in his right hand, however, Sam figured that he may as well milk the deal and get the treat.

"You can call me Abby if you'd like, Sam. Doctor Malloth sounds like my father. Do you know where your father is, Sam?"

Sam figured it was best to just pretend the woman wasn't there and drink his soda. Dean had warned him for as long as he could remember to let people know as little as possible about his family. He listened to the woman drone on about something or other, but found himself more willing to talk to her as she went on. Her questions seemed to start out innocently enough.

"How old are you, Sam?"

"Ten. Almost ten and a half now."

"What did you get for your birthday?"

Sam paused. He had gotten a knife from his brother, and his father had forgotten again, but he knew better than to tell her that. "A race car from Dean and some books from Dad."

"Dean's your brother, right? He's older?"

"Yup. He's four years older than me." Sam drank more of his soda, there didn't seem to be anything wrong with the questions she was asking. Maybe she just wanted to keep him company.

"The nurses at the desk said you carried him in. You must be pretty strong."

Sam just smiled. He still wasn't going to offer up any more information than he needed to.

"What does your father do for a living?"

"He…he…I'm not really sure what he does," Sam hoped that he could play that card since he was still young. "He goes to work in the morning after he drops me off for school, and Dean picks me up, but I'm not sure what Dad does."

"Is he home for dinner a lot?"

Sam looked at her strangely, that was a lying question for him. "He's usually home by the time I finish my homework. He always makes dinner for me and Dean."

"So why wasn't he home when the nurses called your house?" Abby looked like a cat when it had caught a mouse in a trap, but Sam was quick to wipe the expression off her face.

"I bet he's out looking for me and Dean. We should have been home hours ago. He's probably driving around, worried sick."

"And he hasn't checked here yet?"

"What kind of father checks the hospital before his sons' friends' houses?" Sam looked skeptical; his brother would be proud.

"What about your mom? Where is she?"

Sam looked hurt and miserable. "Mom died when I was just a baby. Can we not talk about that?"

"Sure, Sam. If you'll tell me what happened today."

Sam saw visions of Dean jumping between him and some…thing. It hadn't been nearly what they were expecting, and it took them completely by surprise. Their father was going to be furious.

"We were just messing around up on the hill behind my school. We were wrestling and didn't realize how close we came to the edge. Before we knew it, we were tumbling down the hill. Dean got the worst of it and hit a tree. Then I picked him up and brought him here."

The story was innocent enough, and other than the fact that he and Dean had taken turns wrestling with whatever was attacking them, it was kind of close to the truth.

"So why do the bruises on your arm look like fingers? Like someone grabbed you and broke your arm; and the bruises on your stomach look like…"

"I don't know; I'm only ten years old. You're the doctor, you tell me. Where's my brother?"

"Sam, I'm just trying to help you."

"Where…is my brother?"

Abby sighed. "He's in the next room. They're still trying to fix him up. We're talking about you right now."

"I don't want to talk about me; I want to know how Dean is."

"Sam, what really happened today? If someone's hurt you, we can make it all go away. We can help you."

"I told you. Dean and I were messing around and Dean got hurt. It's my fault; no one's hurting me. Dad's probably going to ground us both for a week, but that's all. I'll miss watching television for a little while. Can I see Dean now?"

"Not yet, son."

"I'm not your son. My mother is dead; I told you that."

Abby sighed again. She had seen it so many times; she wanted to help this boy, and hopefully his brother too. The avoidance, the fierce protection of his family, the vague answers; they all painted her a picture that she wanted to change. She wanted to throw a bucket of water at this boy's canvas and start over for him.

"Look. I answered your questions. You can ask my brother what happened when he's better. But right now, I just want to find him and make sure that he's okay. So you can go bother someone else for the time being. Leave me alone." Sam jumped up from the hospital bed and made for the door, Abby hot on his heels.

Barefoot and shirtless, the sight of a small, battered boy sprinting through the halls calling for Dean turned many heads, but one in particular.

"Sammy! Sam! Samuel, come here!"

Sam's head whipped around at the familiar voice, and he skidded to a stop, turning faster than Abby could follow. Her heels clicked on the tile floor as she tried to follow the adolescent.

"Daddy!" Sam bolted for his father and wrapped his arms quickly around his waist. Sniffles were all Sam let show of his relief at finding his father and he buried his face in his father's stomach. Abby groaned; things could only get worse now.

John didn't return the boy's hug, but pulled him out to arms' reach and squatted down until he was eye-to-eye with his son. Gripping Sam's shoulders, John searched the boy's eyes. "Sammy, where's your brother?"

Sam's chin dropped to his chest and he sighed. From where she stood, Abby saw the absolute hurt and disappointment in the young boy's features.

"That way, I think." Sam pointed back to where he had come running from.

"They're still working on him?"

Sam just nodded.

"Is he all right?"

"I don't know what's going on with him, no one would tell me. Daddy, he was hurt pretty bad."

John Winchester saw the fear in his youngest son's eyes and pulled him back in to hug him; he let Sam's arms drape over his shoulders, and felt his boy's face bury into his neck. The tears that came next pulled at the father's heart and suddenly, Dean wasn't foremost in his mind. Both of his sons needed him.

Gripping Sam tightly, John stood up and sought out the nearest wall, slumping down and settling his son into his lap. He felt his son burrow closer to him and realized that he could feel Sam's bare skin. Pulling his own jacket more tightly around the boy's back and shoulder, John rocked his charge gently.

"Are you okay, Sammy?" He felt a nod and reached to turn Sam's chin so he was facing him again. He could see the damage his son had taken. "Are you sure about that?"

"Eight stitches and a concussion. But Dean's worse."

"And it looks like a broken arm too. You're sure you're all right? You were running pretty fast, there sport."

Sam just buried his head more deeply into his father's shoulder and tensed. "There was a mean lady talking to me," he muttered.

"What mean lady?" John was instantly on alert for anyone or anything else that might want to endanger his boy.

"That would probably be me, sir. My name is Doctor Abigail Malloth. I'm a social worker here at the hospital and I'm afraid that Samuel here ran off before we could finish our conversation. Isn't that right, Sam?"

Sam just whimpered and curled more tightly into his father's chest. "I'm pretty sure we were done, ma'am. I told you I answered everything for you; I just want to know how Dean is."

John stood to his full height, shifting Sam to his hip and rubbing his back. "It seems you've done nothing more than scare my son, Doctor. He said you had finished your conversation, and he answered everything you asked of him. So I'd appreciate it if you would leave him alone now, and let me see to both of my boys."

Abigail Malloth was afraid of very few people, especially when she knew that the security guards in the hospital were at her back. "Actually, sir; I'm afraid that I'm going to have to take Sam with me for now, until we can be more sure of some things."

"No! Daddy, please, I want to stay with you!" Sam's cries accompanied him pulling more tightly on his father's neck.

TBC…


	2. Panic

Chapter 2

"Look…" Abigail paused, unsure of the man's name in front of her.

"John."

"John, we can do this the easy way, or we can do it the hard way. There are three security guards there who want to look out for your son's well-being as much as I do. So either you put him down and back away from him, or they make you put him down and take you out of this hospital."

John sighed and hugged his boy more tightly. "Sammy…"

"No! Daddy, I want to stay with you. I'll be good, I promise. I won't fight with Dean anymore, and I won't do anything that gets him hurt." Sam paused, trying to remember the story he had come up with. "I didn't mean to get him hurt, we were just messing around. I know we were supposed to come home right after school, but…"

"Shh, Sammy. This isn't your fault, and I don't know what's going on, but you need to go with this lady I think, so that I can check up on your brother." John paused as a little more realization settled in.

He turned back to the social worker and lowered his boy to the ground, stepping protectively in front of him. "Wait a minute. Just what are you implying, Miss? Why are you taking him anywhere?"

"Well, for one thing, your son looks like he's been the punching bag for someone much larger than him. For another, it's November, and he was wearing a long sleeved shirt when he came in. I want to ask him some more questions, and see what's going to be in his best interests."

"Sammy, where are your jacket and sweatshirt?" John looked more concerned at this new revelation.

"I put my jacket on Dean when he got hurt so he wouldn't get cold. I think I left my sweatshirt in the coat closet at school. I'm sorry."

"It's okay, Sammy. You can get it tomorrow."

Abby looked skeptical. "You put your jacket…on your brother?"

"Yeah. I was scared he'd get cold before I could get him here." Sam hid more fully behind his father, gripping a jacket pocket with his good hand. "Daddy, I don't want to go with her. I want to see Dean. When can I see Dean?"

"Soon, Sammy. We just need to clear some things up first. Okay?" John watched carefully as the security guards began to make their way towards him. He looked up at Abigail. "If I let you talk to my Sammy, can I at least go see my other son, so when you apologize for this mess in a little while I can tell this one that his brother's going to be just fine?"

"You can look in on him and talk to his doctors, but you are not allowed in the room with him until I say so. Is that understood?"

"You're gonna keep me from both of my sons?"

"Until I know that they're safe with you; yes. Now I've said it before. We can agree on this or these gentlemen can take you out of here and then you won't know how your sons are until I'm done. What's it going to be?"

John glared at the woman before nodding slowly. Any other time he would have grabbed the boys and run, made new identities for them and forgotten the incident, never to hear from this woman again, but he knew that he couldn't get both boys safely away with Dean hurt, so he had to submit. He pulled Sam around to face him. "Samuel; you have to go with her right now, there's nothing I can do about it. I'm going to check on your brother and then we'll go home as soon as we can, all right? I want you to be good for her and don't give her any more lip, and then this will all be over." John pulled the boy close and kissed the top of his head.

Sam didn't understand why his big, bad, afraid of nothing father was letting this happen and launched forward to clutch his neck, tears flowing down his cheeks. He felt John pull him away and heard his father sniffle, but he couldn't be concerned about that when he felt Abigail lifting him up and starting to walk away. He struggled and squirmed until she had to put him down or risk dropping him, but she never let go of his arm. Staring back at his father, heartbroken, Sam felt himself being dragged away.

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Sam sat Indian style on the chair facing the social worker. His eyes were in slits and he continued to stare out the door behind her. She had been trying to get the boy's attention for close to an hour now, but he wasn't going to let this woman get to him. At the moment, he wasn't sure who he was more angry at; this woman for guessing that his father was hurting him, the doctor for suspecting it first, his father for letting her take him away, or Dean for getting hurt trying to protect him in the first place. He didn't know what else to think, but each question was making him more and more angry. 

Finally, Sam snapped. "What? What do you want to know? Do you want me to tell you that my father hits me? Because he doesn't. He's never laid a hand on me, or Dean either. He's never spanked us or anything like that. He barely even grounds us unless we really deserve it. He usually just sits us down in a chair and gives us this look like he's wicked disappointed in us and tells us why whatever we did was wrong. Okay? That's all! Dean and I were wrestling today. We fell down a hill and Dean threw me out of the way so that I wouldn't get hurt more. That's probably why it looks like someone grabbed onto my arm or whatever it was that you thought. Now I want to go see my brother, and I want to see my father, and I never want to see you again!" Sam huffed and looked up to the woman to see if that had done any good.

Abigail tried to be understanding of the boy's frustration. After all, she had seen hundreds of cases like this, where the child was overly defensive because he was afraid. She wanted to break through those walls and help him, but something was confusing her; she didn't see any fear in the boy's eyes, just pure loathing that was directed at her. She wouldn't be able to get through to him like this.

"All right, Sam. I'm going to go check on your brother for you and I'll be right back. There's a security guard outside the door, so I don't want you to try and leave here, do you understand me?"

Sam just looked away from her and crossed his arms more tightly across his chest. He was still shirtless despite Abigail's best efforts to get him to warm up, and the goose bumps on his arms weren't helping his resolve. He watched her get up from the desk and walk out the door.

As soon as she left, Sam started looking around the room; he wasn't staying here for any longer than was necessary, even if it meant trying to take on the Rent-A-Cop outside. Unfortunately, there wasn't much that the ten-year old could use. His eyes lit up when he saw the cupboard, however. That could work.

Outside, the middle aged man sat hunched over the chair, his hands tangled in his hair to keep him upright. There wasn't much to watching a closed door, and the guard barely paid attention. That was, until he heard the choking and gut wrenching sobs coming from inside the door. Heart strings were pulled at as he thought of his eight-year old son at home, and he couldn't just sit by and listen. That was what Sam was counting on.

As soon as the door opened, Sam stopped, held his breath, and peered out the door. Predictably, the man kept coming in, not understanding how the sounds he had heard could have stopped so suddenly. From his hiding place, the boy just shook his head; adults could be so predictable. When the guard was far enough into the room, peering behind the desk to see if a small boy was hiding there, Sam made his move, bolting out from the cupboard and racing for the door. Once outside, he ignored the man's shouts and jammed the chair under the door. Giggling for the first time since the whole ordeal started, Sam set out in search of his brother.

He wasn't hard to find. The room that Sam had originally been taken to had several guards posted outside of it, and he had to backtrack before he was spotted. He remembered that there were two doors to the room and he sought another way in. He found it easily enough, but was dismayed to see more guards standing there; he should have figured as much. Sam ducked into a darkened room and swung the door more shut, hiding behind it. Making sure that no one was going to sneak up behind him, Sam cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted for help. His father had taught him how to throw his voice and make it sound like he was moving, and he reminded himself to thank him later when the guards went rushing by.

Sam didn't wait to count his blessings, just bolted out the door and towards Dean's room. Quietly, he pushed the door open and ducked inside. He had to jump behind the nearest curtain when he saw Abigail coming through the huge glass window and bided his time. She never came in, merely glanced in the window and then turned and left. Sam let out the breath he was holding and peeked around the cloth.

"Dean," he whispered. "Dean, are you awake?" Sam was rewarded with a groan and called out to his brother again. "Dean, I need help, wake up."

Dean's eyes shot open and he looked around, sure that he had heard his baby brother. He groaned again and clutched his ribs. He felt like they were on fire.

"Dean, please?"

That time, the teenager was sure that he had heard Sam. "Sammy, where are you?"

"Down here. Are you okay?"

The sight was comical; his kid brother was lying on the floor, looking up at him from under the curtain that closed off his bed area. "What are you doing down there? And I'm fine."

Sam looked at him with one eyebrow raised, but let him be. "I'm hiding from the mean old lady that thinks Daddy's hurting us. She doesn't want me to see you."

Dean was instantly out of the bed, pulling the IV from his hand and crouching down to pull his brother into a hug; he could see the fear in the boy's eyes that Abigail couldn't find. Sam was terrified of being separated from his family. When he stood up again, gripping the broken ribs tightly, he pulled Sam up with him. "No one's going to take you away, Sammy. Do you understand me? I promise. Now, what…do they think…happened?"

"We were wrestling after school…up on that hill behind my school. We went over the edge and you pushed me out of the way so I wouldn't get hurt. I know it's lame, but I had to think fast."

"It's great Sammy, is Dad here yet?" Dean saw the dark shadows that passed over his brother's face. "What is it?"

"He let her take me."

Dean sighed; he could guess that their father had no choice, he had dealt with nosy hospital workers before, but Sam hadn't.

"I'm sure he didn't want to, Sammy. We'll fix it, okay?"

"I thought I told you to stay put, young man."

Dean felt Sam tense up and instinctively stepped in front of him, turning to face his brother's tormentor. He still had a few inches on his brother, enough that he could hide the boy behind him still; feel like he could protect him from every evil that came to get him. "Who the Hell are you?"

"You must be Dean. I'm Doctor Abigail Malloth; I'm a social worker here at the hospital."

"Social worker, hunh? Didn't they teach you that scaring ten-year old boys doesn't give you a very good rapport with their older brothers?"

"I'm not trying to scare him, just trying to find out the truth. I'm looking out for him, and you."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Our father looks out for us well enough. And I look out for Sammy. We don't need you to butt into our lives."

"I just want to make sure everything's okay with your family, Dean. That's all." She took a step forward and tried to place a hand on his shoulder. Dean took a step back quickly; making sure Sam went with him.

"Make sure everything's okay with my family? My family's just fine, _Doctor_. We do well enough on our own; its people like you who screw families up."

"Look, son…"

"I'm _not_ your son. My mother's dead." Dean growled at the woman.

"Dean. I just want to know what happened today. You and your brother look pretty beat up; your brother wasn't dressed appropriately for the weather, and we couldn't reach your father. We all just want to make sure everything is all right."

"Everything _was_ fine until you barged in here, pretending like you know anything about my family, scared my little brother so badly that he's shaking, and probably gave my father a nervous breakdown. We may not leave the perfect American lifestyle, but my father does the best he can by us. He makes sure we're safe, and well cared for, and he's there if we need him. He's been our Mom and our Dad for the past ten years, and he's made damn sure that we grow up healthy, safe, and protected. Now, why can't you just leave us alone?" Dean's voice was growing darker by the moment, his volume raising until he was almost yelling, and sounding far more dangerous than any fourteen-year old should know how to be.

Abigail's voice could be just as dark and her patience was wearing thin with the Winchester boys. "You need to calm down. I take my job very seriously, and I have experience on my side. Now you boys both look like you've been run through the gauntlet, and I intend to find out just how it happened. Your brother's arm looks like someone took it and lifted him up by it before breaking it, and you both look like human punching bags…" She paused when she realized that she was in a shouting match with a teenager. "I just want to help."

"You aren't doing anything but hurting. I don't know why my brother's arm looks like that. All I remember is grabbing him and throwing him out of the way of the tree that we were heading towards. If that bruised or broke his arm then I'm sorry. But…" Dean paused and whipped around. "Sammy, are you okay? Oh shit."

Dean had felt his brother tugging on his arm for only a moment before he turned to face him. He took in the terrified look his brother gave him and began to hear that Sam was having trouble breathing. Without thinking, he grabbed his brother and swung him up so he was sitting on the hospital bed. "It's okay, Sammy. We're not going to yell anymore and no one's going to take us away from Dad. Just breathe buddy. Keep your head down. Sammy…Sammy, come on little brother. It's all right, just calm down."

Sam couldn't see straight and he couldn't get any air through his lungs. All he knew was whatever they had gotten themselves into today was a much bigger problem than the monster that had gotten the drop on them. This woman was seriously talking about taking their father away from them, and Sam knew enough about people like that to know that she would probably try to take him away from Dean too. Spots danced in his vision and he could barely hear the words his brother was speaking. His shoulders hunched up and down and he could just hear himself squeaking over the ringing in his ears. Sam was sure that he couldn't have moved if he wanted to, he felt like his whole body was numb. The spots were starting to get bigger and darker, and he could feel the fear rising in him.

"Sam…Sammy, come on little brother, breathe for me. Move lady!" Dean physically pushed Abigail out of the way as she crowded forward; trying to see what was going on with the younger boy. She stepped back as she watched Dean push Sam's head further down between his shoulder blades and rubbed his back. She barely heard the commotion outside, but turned her head quickly when the door slammed open and the guards shouted. Abigail watched, almost detached, as John Winchester subdued the four guards standing with him and raced into the room.

"Sammy. Sammy it's all right now. Daddy's here, just relax. Breathe in, come on, you can do it, nothing's stopping you. That's it, just breathe, sport. I'm right here; no one can hurt you now. Shh." John climbed up onto the bed and sat back, pulling his youngest into his lap once more and rubbing slow circles on his back. He felt Sam's chest rise and fall more slowly, and could feel the boy falling into a light sleep. With his free arm, he pulled Dean close and hugged him tightly; protecting his little family with his embrace. Tortured eyes sought out Abigail, and suddenly all thoughts of separating this family fled her mind.

Maybe, just maybe, those boys had been telling the truth. Doctor Abigail Malloth simply nodded her head at the man, waved off the security guards coming to help her, and walked sullenly out the door.

The End.

**_Stay tuned for the epilogue..._**


	3. Glimpse

Epilogue

The first night at home without Dean, John had managed a half hour of sleep before he heard padded steps creep into his room. Instantly alert but not giving up his pretense of sleep, the man's hand tightened on the handle of his gun before he felt the mattress sag on the empty side. He felt a small hand reach under the pillow and lay the cold steel of a .45 near his own gun. John held his breath as his youngest son snuggled his way under his father's arm and curled up there. His heart broke as he could feel the trembling body that now sought his protection.

On one hand, John's heart soared as he knew now for sure that the bond he had worked so hard to form between his boys was solid. He knew that Dean must be taking care of Sam's nightmares every night, and he was proud of his oldest son. If something were ever to happen, he mused, Dean would be able to take care of Sam. On the other hand, his heart dropped below his stomach as he thought of the terror his youngest must be hiding from him at having to deal with everything that was thrown at him. Dean had had his own nightmares for a few years after Mary had died, but he had grown out of them and hardened into a cold killer. John was afraid that he was never going to succeed with that in his youngest boy; Sam was too much like his mother. John feared that that was going to be his son's undoing. Not knowing what else to do, the father simply tightened his grip on his son and lightly kissed the top of his head before falling into a light sleep.

The second night at home without Dean, John hadn't made it to his room yet when he heard his son's cries in the night. Rushing into his room, he took in the sight of his boy thrashing around in his bed. He stood, transfixed, for a moment as he watched Sam's arms flail, but when the boy started to cry, John acted on instinct. He rushed over to his son's bed and pulled him up into his arms; sitting back on Dean's bed and rocking the boy until he quieted. "Dean's coming home tomorrow, Sammy. Then everything will be all right again." He just kept mumbling that to his son until Sam was sleeping again. John spent the night there, protecting his son from whatever haunted his dreams.

* * *

John followed his oldest son out to the car, breathing a mental sigh of relief now that his family was whole again. He had feared for the oldest boy, vulnerable as he was in that hospital. He watched as Dean climbed slowly into the backseat and let his baby brother give him a quick hug. How anyone could think of separating the small family was beyond him.

* * *

"Dean, what happened out there? You know you aren't supposed to be going out on hunts by yourself. You should have told me what was going on."

"It was just supposed to be a water sprite, Dad. Nothing major. You said yourself that I could take Sammy out after those. It was only going after small dogs and cats. Whatever attacked us, it wasn't what we were going after."

"What was it?"

"I don't even know. I swear to you, Dad, it looked like one of those tree shepherd things that Sammy's reading about in the Lord of the Rings. I know they don't exist, but I swear that's what it was."

"Well that's why I caught Sammy burning that book the day I brought him home, then. He wouldn't tell me what happened out there."

"He burned a book? Voluntarily? Let me guess, he's reading another one already?"

Dean laughed when his father nodded, and finally told him what happened. "We were at the lake out near his school. We had just finished banishing the thing when I heard Sammy whimper. I couldn't have done anything, Dad. By the time I turned around, the thing had grabbed Sammy by the arm and had lifted him clear off the ground. I didn't have anything but my little pocketknife, but I went after it. It had to let go of Sammy. I don't really remember anything after that. I guess Sammy got us away from it somehow, the nurses said he carried me in from wherever we'd gotten hurt at. I didn't think he was that strong, and I'm pretty sure he couldn't have killed whatever it was."

"I'll go find it tonight. We won't have to worry about it much longer. I doubt Sammy killed it either, but your brother's growing up, I'm sure he's getting a lot stronger too. Plus he was worried about you, don't forget that. He idolizes you, Dean. Make sure you watch out for him."

"Always. Damn, I want to find that thing and kill it for hurting Sammy."

"It sure did a number on you too, though. Three broken ribs and a concussion so bad they kept you under observation for three days. You got lucky, son. You or your brother could have been hurt so much worse. I'm just glad you're okay. I want you to keep something more than a pocketknife on you from now on though. Do you understand?"

Dean nodded and watched as Sam scampered in from school. The neighbor had picked him up so Dean could take a few more days off to rest. He smiled as his baby brother waved his report card in his father's face, bragging about how he had gotten all A pluses again. He was jumping from foot to foot and grinning like the Cheshire cat. Dean hoped that his father wouldn't crush his brother's excitement; he could never bear the look on Sam's face when their father did. Dean was pleased when John gave his son a quick hug and put the report card on the fridge. Dean idly wished that his report card ever made it there. Then the two boys went upstairs to melt some more silver and John stayed downstairs, researching tree demons. Life went back to 'normal' for the Winchester family.

* * *


End file.
